


Why You Don't Crash an Orgy

by Aleandri



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Werewolves Still Exist, Bad Decisions, Blood and Gore, Drinking, F/M, Hand Jobs, Horror, M/M, Nudity, Orgy, Peer Pressure, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Werewolves, and kind of confused, but then very okay, but was drunk, he went for the sex, if you're a little twisted, kind of funny, so yeah we'll say non-con, that V-card tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:10:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5910856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleandri/pseuds/Aleandri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short little horror/romance AU with a hint of humor. One-shot. </p><p>***</p><p>"Everything was good. Everything was fine. He was at a party, in the woods, drunk, and the night was young. He just needed to find someone else who would be willing to have sex with him and everything would be great! V-card officially shredded.</p><p>Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have already partnered (and grouped) up and gotten down to business. Everywhere he looked, people were rolling around making out or chasing each other laughing and screaming or already passed out drunk on the ground.</p><p>How the fuck do you strike out at an orgy?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why You Don't Crash an Orgy

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to have some fun. It's late and this wasn't beta'd. And please check the tags because this one plays around a bit with consent issues and drinking.

Stiles was going to get laid if it _killed_ him.

Which was why when the word about a super-secret orgy at the Preserve got to him, he acted fast.

Technically, the rumor of the orgy didn’t reach his ears directly. More like, super-indirectly because he was hiding behind the dirty towels hamper in the boys locker room getting a headache from the loud hum and clank of the bulk washing machine while waiting for Jackson Whitmore to leave so he could vandalize the fuck out of eveything the douchebag left in his locker.

It had been a very rough lacrosse practice.

And Stiles was pissed.

But also very weak and breakable and surprisingly prone to painful bruising.

So, passive aggressiveness and sarcasm were his go-to methods of revenge.

AND, if he happened to overhear every detail about an invite-only sex party in the middle of the woods on Friday night, well…call it _fate_.

Stiles was able to go home an hour later with a huge grin spread across his face, not only because of his satisfaction at having completely destroyed all Jackson’s equipment and uniforms, but also from the confidence that his V-card was going to be well and truly discarded by Saturday morning.

…O_O…

Thursday afternoon, Stiles waited outside the neat little clinic on B Street for almost an hour before he actually got up the nerve to go in.

This would have been easier if he had his faithful best bro, Scott, with him. But, Scott was currently more obsessed with his new girlfriend than anything else in, like, existence, so Stiles hadn’t even tried to bring him along. Probably for the best, actually, since Stiles really didn’t want his best friend to be with him at an orgy that was also doubling as his first non-solo sexual experience. Yeah, too weird.

But, it’d still have been nice to have a buddy with him for this whole ‘blood test’ thing, though. It was kind of a strange requirement, actually, as far as teenage orgies go (not that he actually had any experience on the subject). But, he was pretty sure most young adults who planned on having sex with multiple partners in one alcohol-fueled night didn’t necessarily worry about STDs.

But, the weird kid, Isaac, who had invited Jackson had been super-clear about turning in a blood sample at this particular clinic so…fuck it, right? Safe sex was, like, a pleasant surprise. Very courteous of the mysterious hosts to be concerned about that sort of thing.

So, Stiles sucked in a deep breath and sent up a prayer that he wasn’t about to get himself busted for trying to crash a party he was not welcome to join in on.

He stepped into the air conditioned office with his heart nearly beating out of his chest. It was spacious, but…completely empty.

Like, not even a receptionist at the front desk. Stiles turned back to check the door, worried that he had missed some sort of ‘Closed’ sign or something.

“Can I help you?” A voice suddenly asked, and Stiles spun a little too fast back to the now occupied front desk.

A very sharp-eyed woman was glaring disapprovingly at him. Stiles blinked. Had she been, like, hiding under the desk or something…?

“Hey…hey, um, yeah- I-I’m here for a blood draw.” He stated lamely, immediately realizing that he had no other information to give the woman except that it was for ‘this one sex party in the woods I heard about’.

Shit- he didn’t even know who to send the results to. Did he just, like, show up with the paperwork AT the orgy?

Weirdo-Isaac had just told Jackson to show up here and do it.

But, he must have said some kind of secret code word or something, because the woman suddenly relaxed and even smiled brightly. “OH-! Oh, I see!” She gave Stiles a not-so-subtle once-over.

And Stiles just KNEW that she KNEW.

And that was pretty awkward, especially since she looked about forty, but as long as she wasn’t one of the attendees he’d be fine.

“Uh, so,” Stiles began, not sure what exactly he was going to ask, “What do I need to do for the uh, party.” He whispered the last part, trying not to sound as uncomfortable as he definitely felt.

The woman smiled tightly as she held up a thick card.

Stiles reached for it carefully, and read it.

Or…looked at it, at least.

The only thing on the paper was two sets of three-digit numbers in a dark red ink.

“Right… so, what do I do with-“ The woman was not at the desk when he looked up, “…this?” He finished lamely.

There was no where for her to go.

THERE WAS NO WHERE FOR HER TO GO.

Stiles actually hopped up onto the counter and slid back, leaning to look UNDER the desk.

The woman was gone.

And that should have been the deal-breaker right there.

He should’ve decided that he didn’t want to go to an orgy that required he deal with disappearing people.

But…

… _sex_.

…O_O…

They were coordinates, as it turned out. Latitude and Longitude.

It had been one of the first things Stiles tried when he attempted to decode the red numbers. He plopped them into Google maps and, sure enough, they came up as a lakefront area deep in the Preserve outside of town.

Stiles was kind of proud of himself. He wondered, vaguely, if Jackson had decided to go and if he would be smart enough to figure out the number code.

Then he realized that if Jackson DID go, then there was a possibility of him being involved in the sex-fest, which…yuck.

If Stiles weren’t so desperate to finally get laid, that might have been the one thing that stopped him from going.

But, no. Stiles was not going to bail out of his first de-virginizing experience just because of Jackson. Maybe there would be enough alcohol present to make the image of Jackson’s perfectly toned body not matter. Plus, they’d already seen each naked in the locker room enough to be de-sensitized to male nudity and inadequateness.

It’ll be fine.

As long as no parts of Jackson touch any parts of Stiles.

 _Easy_.

…O_O…

Stiles parked in an open space between some trees a short ways from the main road of the Preserve and began walking the rest of the way.

There hadn’t been any sign of streets or parking areas near the actual area where the party was going to be held, so he figured it was one of those ‘make your own way’ kind of parties.

He used his cell phone as a light, which was severely inadequate for the most part. Thankfully the moon was full and round in the night sky above him, so he was able to navigate some of the less tree-covered sections of forest without too much difficulty.

He could hear the music and voices long before he made it to the party. Up ahead, he could even begin see the bright orange glow of bonfires through the thick trees.

This was it.

An actual sex party.

With actual sex.

That Stiles would be _participating_ in.

Okay- not panicking. Definitely NOT panicking.

He’d showered _three_ times.

In the last _two_ _hours_.

And actually went out and bought a _forty_ _dollar_ pair of boxers at the mall.

Which he wasn’t wearing.

Because it occurred to him that this was a fucking sex party. Duh.

So, instead, he’d gone BACK to the same mall and spent _three_ _hundred_ _and_ _eight_ _dollars_ on an outfit that was easy to slip out of but still looked way better than ANYTHING he had ever owned.

“You just gonna stand there staring or what?”

Stiles actually jumped, but blessedly did not scream, at the sound of a woman’s voice behind him. He snapped his neck around so fast he got dizzy. “Wha-!?”

And there stood his future wife. Long hair dark and inky in the moonlight. Teeth sparkling as she smiled at him.

And she was naked.

So, so naked.

Like, there was so much beautiful, pale skin, he couldn’t even-

“Come on, handsome, the party’s about to kick off!”

And then he was being half dragged towards the orange lights and voices much faster than he would have strictly liked, but hey-! At least, he’s already made a crazy-hot new friend and wasn’t showing up alone. #silverlining #impendingpanicattack

They broke from the tree line and Stiles’ shoes sank immediately into sand. He was surprised at how close to the shoreline of the lake they were.

He was more impressed with the number of people present. He’d been silently horrified that this might be one of those cozy little get-togethers of, like, ten people. There had to be at least sixty here.

And to his relief, only about half of them were actually naked. In fact, several of them seemed to be standing uncomfortably around just staring distractedly at the ones who were naked.

So, at least Stiles would blend in.

“Come on, I’ll get you a drink!” The future Mrs. Stilinski tugged on Stiles arm and he went with her, finally beginning to relax.

They passed people who already had cups in their hands and dazed smiles on their faces. Stiles tried to scope out the people, checking to see where exactly he stood on the hotness scale.

Apparently, around the middle, he discovered. True, he wasn’t the hottest person present, but he wasn’t at the bottom either. It was an…interesting mix, considering that it was supposed to be a sex party.

Perfect. This was actually perfect, Stiles realized.

He had a real shot of not embarrassing himself tonight.

 _Fuck_. _Yes_.

A drink was suddenly blocking his view and he turned to accept the cup from his grinning Bride-to-be.

Who was…actually kind of way out of his league, he realized now that he had proper light from the fires. His stomach dipped unpleasantly. Because, yeah, she was gorgeous and pretty much his ideal woman. But…

…she was NOT the kind of girl who would appreciate a lanky virgin slobbering inexpertly all over her.

She nodded her head at his drink and rolled her eyes. “You gonna drink that or gawk at me all night?” It was said jokingly, but Stiles brain was already operating in ‘not-got-a-chance-in-hell’ mode, so he immediately cringed and downed the drink before he could stutter out an apology.

Which was a mistake.

Because, _whoa_.

He had planned on getting buzzed, but still remaining sober enough to REMEMBER losing his virginity. But whatever the fuck he just gulped down hit him so fast his head was already spinning before he pulled the cup away from his mouth to breath.

“ _Christ_ -“ he gasped, blinking as he smacked the weird taste from his lips.

The girl laughed, and it tinkled like musical notes in his ears. “Yep, good stuff, right? Have some more!” And she was tipping the cup back up to his mouth and he was so impressed by her enthusiasm that- yeah, he finished the entire cup.

And it had been a pretty _big_ cup...

Which was very quickly replaced by a new cup- this one handed to him by a second ridiculously pretty woman who appeared from, like, nowhere.

And he knew that he was already drunk when he reached for the new drink and missed twice, which- holy shit, what was in these?

Thankfully, his brain was like a train on a track that refused to be derailed tonight. No, tonight he was going to get laid and no amount of alcohol pushed on him by beautiful, naked goddesses was going to prevent him from achieving his mission.

The sudden hand on his crotch might, though.

Stiles made a startled noise and tried to figure what was happening through the haze that was quickly fogging up his mind.

He glanced down at the hand rubbing him through his two hundred dollar name brand jeans, then followed that hand up the arm to it’s source, which was-

-the beautiful future Mrs. Stilinski.

And Stiles was definitely drunk. Because it probably shouldn’t be so hard to figure who was touching his junk.

He wisely did not bring the second drink up to his mouth. He vaguely wondered if there was something in his first drink, because it should really take longer for him to get properly drunk. He had a decent tolerance built up from sneaking bottles from his dad’s liquor cabinet and drinking them with Scott almost every weekend for the last four years.

He was GOOD at drinking.

Something was very… _wrong_.

“Hey-“ the girl in front of him was trying to get his attention, “You still with me, cutie?”

Shit. He really had to focus. Sex. Yeah, he was here for sex. As long as he managed to get laid at least once tonight, everything would be fine.

And this girl, right here in front of him, willingly touching his dick through his pants- she seemed to think Stiles could do sex.

 _Fucking_ _focus_.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah,” Stiles repeated, his mouth thick and slow, “I’m- I’m good. Great. Sex?” he heard the last part echo in his head and vaguely realized that it was inappropriate, but the girl in front of him was laughing. So, maybe Stiles was actually funny…?

Then he was off balance and dropping backwards, immediately grabbing the girl in a panic, which-wow, soft bare skin….

Then they were sitting on the ground, or at least Stiles was. The girl was sitting in his lap. And kissing him.

Which was awesome.

His mind was humming, and he wasn’t sure how much time was passing. But, when she pulled away, it was to bring another cup full of the magical concoction back up to his mouth and encourage him to keep drinking.

But, haha, _no_ _chance_.

Stiles’ brain was latched onto a very simple, but profound mathematical conclusion:

More Drinky + Stiles = Zero Sexy Times

He was already having enough trouble following the fact that a hot chick actually had her tongue in his mouth. No way was he drinking another drop and risking fucking this up.

But, apparently the girl REALLY wanted him to keep drinking. He turned his head and stuttered a ‘no, I’m good’ and she actually looked annoyed.

“Come on, big boy, drink up-“ She tried again, smiling a little too forcefully.

But, nope.

1 + 1 = 0

Not gonna happen.

Then, she seemed to try and _force_ Stiles to drink, holding the cup to his mouth and tilting it- which, okay, not cool.

He reached numbly for the cup, to pull it away, just as the girl’s head turned to look at something.

“ _What_?” She asked lowly, face suddenly becoming angry. Stiles vaguely realized that she wasn’t talking to him, and he took that opportunity to very un-subtly lower the cup and dump it’s contents in the sand behind him. Smooth. Stiles congratulated himself on his sneaky ways.

Meanwhile, the girl was muttering angrily at…well, no one.

_“Are you-are you actually serious?… But I was first! … It’s a GUY, Derek- you’re not even-!”_

Stiles was impressed by how angry the girl was getting. She was completely focused on arguing with the empty space to their right. Stiles tried to give himself a little head shake, because- no, that didn’t make sense in the world of sobriety. People didn’t just have arguments with _nothing_.

Turning his head, he tried to figure out who she was talking to.

And that’s when he saw _Tall_ , _Dark_ and _Holy_ _Fuck_.

Somehow, just looking at the broad-shouldered man standing alone thirty feet away felt like a splash of cold water in his bleary mind. Things became ever-so-slightly less blurry, as if he was sobering up a bit.

 _Thank_ _God_ …

He saw the dude’s mouth move, but he was too far away to possibly hear over all the other noises.

And there were a LOT of other noises- _sheesh_! People really needed to _calm_ _down_.

The girl in his lap growled, which rumbled pleasantly against Stiles legs and chest and made his already rigid dick twitch excitedly. “ _That’s_ _not_ _fair_ -!”

Stiles turned from her very angry face, back to the man in the shadows and watched his mouth move again.

He had a nice mouth.

He had a nice… _everything_ …Stiles noted, abruptly realizing that the man was naked and-

-wow. WOW.

That was NOT what Stiles looked like naked. Hell, that wasn’t what anyone Stiles had ever SEEN looked like naked.

Except in pornos.

And even then, only, like, the _stars_.

The man suddenly looked directly at Stiles, and it was enough to freeze Stiles in place.

Another splash of cold water for his fuzzy brain.

Movement forced Stiles attention to shift back to the naked girl in his lap who was-

- _leaving_?

Stiles watched as she left without even a glance back at him. She seemed _pissed_ ….

Stiles turned back to the stranger, but he was gone. Just like that.

Huh.

Stiles looked down at his now empty lap where the bulge of his erection was tenting.

Then back at the empty spot in the sand, by the water where the serious-faced dude had been standing.

Then back to where his ex-future Mrs. Stilinski had stomped off.

Something had just happened. He wasn’t sure exactly what, and that probably had a lot to do with how incredibly drunk he was, but he was now sitting alone-

-at an orgy

-with an uncomfortable erection.

Stiles decided that he should be embarrassed. A hot girl had just walked away from him and he probably had done something incredibly stupid to deserve it.

Worried that people had seen him strike out, he glanced around at the other party goers.

Thankfully, none of them were watching him. He sighed gratefully.

Everything was good. Everything was fine. He was at a party, in the woods, drunk, and the night was young. He just needed to find someone else who would be willing to have sex with him and everything would be great! V-card officially shredded.

Unfortunately, everyone else seemed to have already partnered (and grouped) up and gotten down to business. Everywhere he looked, people were rolling around making out or chasing each other laughing and screaming or already passed out drunk on the ground.

Everyone else was having fun, except him.

How the fuck do you strike out at an orgy? This was fucking ridiculous. He was never going to lose his virginity and he wasn’t even sure what he had just done wrong to piss off the one girl who had actually shown interest in him!

Maybe it was because he wouldn’t drink the beer…?

Stiles rubbed his head in frustration, feeling the edge of a headache creeping in. All around him the party was still going on full-blast. The sound of moans, screams, sex and excited howling was beginning to grate on his raw nerves. Maybe he should just give up and get plastered-

-another cup was dropped in front of his face and he took it with a cheerful ‘ _godbless_!’

The generous bearer of alcohol sat down on the sand beside him and Stiles turned. He almost dropped the drink in surprise.

It was the super-hot pornstar guy.

He looked even more scary and angry (and hot) up close.

And he _was_ CLOSE.

Like, all up in Stiles' grill. Breathing in the same air. Naked, perfectly sculpted body leaning warmly against Stiles’ side.

“Drink.” The man ordered in a deep voice. It was almost too low to even here with all the screaming and shouting going on around them. His eyes- which were crazy bright blueish green in faint light of the fire- indicated the cup.

Stiles looked down at the cup, trying to gather his thoughts together from where they were scattered in the haze of his mind.

Did he want to drink more? He had just made a decision before the super-hot guy magically appeared…but, _what_ _was_ _it_ …?

He must have been thinking for too long, because the guy was suddenly holding Stiles' wrist and helping bring the drink to his mouth- and _seriously_ what was the deal with people at this party trying to force people to drink-?!

Stiles shut his mouth in protest. If he was going to drink- it would be because HE wanted to thank you very much handsome stranger.

The man’s already stormy face began to thunder, and his mouth opened, but he was distracted by a rowdy partier who ran past them and was _tackled_ by a second partier. The first shouted excitedly and Stiles became so jealous and generally pissed-off that he was NOT getting to have any fun at a DAMN ORGY that he jerked the cup away from his mouth and intentionally tossed it to the ground.

Angry pornstar growled and grabbed his arm, but, _fuck_ _him AND his perfect jawline_. If he didn’t want to waste it then he should have drank it himself, not tried to make Stiles. _Booyah_.

And, deciding that he was many things, but NOT a masochist, Stiles begin to lift his numb body up to leave.

And was immediately jerked back down. And onto his back. Under the very powerful thighs and glare of the angry pornstar.

It took Stiles a minute to process why the guy would want to _wrestle_ with him, when clearly they were not evenly matched muscle-wise.

Then the guy brought his head down to Stiles, who flinched in drunken surprise as the man…

…kissed him. Hard. And manly-like.

And as Stiles let him, it occurred to him that he _may_ have misread a few signals tonight.

He reassessed the last few minutes.

Apparently, angry pornstar wanted to be Stiles' orgy-partner? The kissing seemed to be a confirmation. And the- _oh_ , _yes_ \- the new 'grinding of the crotches' was also very convincing.

Stiles pulled his head to the side to break the kiss, because 1) he needed to breath and 2) he really needed to clarify.

“Sex?” He managed, blinking into angry pornstar’s angry blue eyes.

The man huffed in answer and began licking and nibbling Stiles’ neck which- _hmmm_ , _yes_ , was _wonderful_. There was a very annoying and distracting movement that briefly stopped the awesome attention to Stiles’ neck, but it was back quickly. And Stiles shirt was suddenly gone.

“Um…M’not gay?” Stiles threw out helpfully, because it seemed like something he should bring up.

Then angry pornstar’s warm hand went down the front of Stiles’ two hundred dollar jeans and pulled on his very erect cock.

And Stiles came. Which, yeah, was really fast and super-embarrassing, but NOT by his own fucking hand-!

And the man stroked him all the way through it which was- yeah- the _absolute_ _BEST_.

Stiles tried to breath calmly (versus the joyful heaving he was actually doing) and failed as his orgasm began to fade. The hand on his cock moved up and slipped behind his back to tug him closer.

“Hmm…” Stiles sighed breathlessly, “…nevermind. M’gay.”

Then the wonderful mouth was back and Stiles was one hundred percent onboard with angry pornstar doing EVERYTHING possible to him.

Stiles raised one of his legs and wrapped it behind the man’s back, lifting his hips to rock his sensative crotch against the man’s own erection in a way that hopefully translated into ‘put this item into me, please’.

The man moaned and grinded back, his hands both moving to dip into the back of Stiles’ jeans and firmly squeeze his ass-cheeks.

Yeah. Yeah, Stiles was sold. Gay sex was going to definitely happen ASAP.

Stiles dropped his hands (which had somehow found their way into the man’s hair) down to his pants’ button and zipper, fumbling uselessly to get his pants off. He broke his mouth away from the man’s and slurred, “Sex-in me-now-fast-“.

The man pulled back with a frown, looking to where Stiles’ was failing at taking off his pants.

Then, his eyes met Stiles’ and clearly said without him having to speak- ‘ _Oh_ , _about_ _that_...’

And that’s when Stiles' brain had it’s first real sober moment since he arrived. And it used that moment to remind Stiles that he was a skinny, pale, awkward nerd. And this man was a muscled, tan, handsome sex god. And why would this man- this object of masculine perfection- want to fuck… _Stiles_?

It was like some kind of joke.

Which is why, with a sinking sense of horrible dread, Stiles turned away from the man, and looked dizzily around.

The bonfire light had dropped low, and everything was cast in shadows and moonlight. Several naked and sated partiers were watching him from where they sat beside they’re passed out partners.

It was all a sick joke, Stiles mind managed to supply. That’s what this was. No way was this guy actually trying to hook-up with him.

It was a dare. A prank.

Go make out with the loser sitting by himself! Wouldn’t that be funny?

“Oh.” Stiles said, turning back to the man, who was smirking.

Smirking.

The son of a bitch was _smirking._

“Oh.” Stiles repeated, and suddenly Stiles felt like the stupidest human on the face of the planet. He’d never felt so humiliated in his entire eighteen years of existence- and he’s had a LOT of embarrassing moments.

The man’s smirk grew into a full toothy grin, which was amazing- the fucker, and he dipped his head down to Stiles neck and-

-HELL-THE-FUCK-NO.

Stiles elbow-checked him across the face hard enough to knock the man sideways.

And it felt great.

So, he followed it up by bringing his knee up, then kicking his foot down- straight at the man’s cock.

And that felt even better.

Stiles dragged himself up, sand pouring off his back and jeans as he got to his feet only a little woozily.

The man was growling furiously, with angry curses in between, as he rolled away and held his dick protectively.

And Stiles, who already had enough pent-up rage over douchebag jocks to last him a lifetime, opened the floodgates of fury.

“YOU STUCK-UP PIECE OF SHIT-! YOU ARROGANT, BRAINLESS, SHITBAG PRICK-!” Stiles swung his leg out and kicked the man’s huddled form as hard as he could. “HOW DARE YOU TREAT ME LIKE I’M NOT AS GOOD AS YOU! LIKE YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME! YOU’RE NOT BETTER THAN ME BECAUSE YOU HAVE GLORIOUS FUCKING MUSCLES AND-AND A PERFECT FUCKING FACE-“

There was a hand on his arm with surprisingly sharp nails digging into his bare skin and he turned just long enough to yell at the person, “NO-YOU LET ME FINISH HE NEEDS TO KNOW HOW NOT FUCKING OKAY IT IS TO MESS WITH ME-!”

Stiles jerked his arm away- which hurt- to finish his rant. “I DESERVE BETTER! I DESERVE RESPECT! I AM NOT THE BUTT OF SOME JERK-FACED DICK’S JOKE! YOU-YOU DON’T DESERVE ME!” He finished proudly, head high. Then he kicked the guy one more time, for good measure, before turning to leave with as much dignity as possible.

And tripped immediately.

But recovered, gracefully-ish, to march for the tree line he'd entered from.

And tripped again.

But, this time it totally wasn’t his fault, it was fucking Jackson’s. Because, of course Jackson had come! This was probably all set up by him in the first place! All a part of some mastermind evil dickish prank to finally completely ruin Stiles’ life and self-esteem.

“And fuck you, too!” Stiles yelled, pointing his finger angrily in Jackson’s pale face as he stumbled back to his feet.

And of course Jackson didn’t deign to acknowledge him. The piece of shit was so drunk he was practically unconscious, barely making groaning noises where he lay naked. The girl who was leaning over him seemed perfectly sober and wide-eyed as she gaped at Stiles.

It was the very-super-ex-future Mrs. Stilinski. Her face was smeared and gooey looking which made it a little bit easier to hate her.

Of course she was with fucking Jackson- christ Stiles’ life sucked so much it was breaking physics.

“And fuck you, you beautiful seductress tease!” Stiles shouted at her as he wiped at his arms where touching Jackson had got him grossly wet and sticky. “Your shit-load of make-up is running all over your perfect symmetrical fucking face, you slob!” He rubbed at the slickness on his hand and arm furiously as he turned and continued his enraged exit, looking down and realizing he was only smearing the darkness all over himself, because of course this night was not going to get cut him a fucking break-!

He passed by the blissed out, dripping faces of the other partiers and the passed out naked bodies around them, refusing to even acknowledge anyone else.

He was done.

He was so fucking completely permanently done with these fuckers. He reached the distant tree line and began to step into the forest-

From behind him, he heard a furious roar that damn near rattled his bones, and NO. NO- HE was going to have the final word here, fuck you very much!

Spinning around, he shouted, “ROT IN HELL YOU-“

... Being drunk is a funny thing.

It’s kind of like standing behind a curtain that is almost see-through. If you just squint a bit and focus real hard, you can kind of see what's on the other side.

Being sober AFTER being drunk, on the other hand, is kind of like someone abruptly pulling aside that annoying curtain-- you realize that what you thought was a coffee table, was actually a cat.

Or what you thought was naked partiers passed out all over the ground was actually naked partiers with their throats ripped out all over the ground.

Or what you thought was an extremely attractive man, was actually a very hairy fanged man who was getting more hairy and fanged by the second-

-and was looking at you from across the many mangled bodies like you just elbowed him in the face, kicked him in the balls, and cussed him out in front of all his equally hairy and fanged friends.

Oh, and the sticky stuff covering everyone and now your hands- that stuff that just hadn’t even seemed worth noticing or thinking about a few seconds ago?- yeah, that’s blood.

Sobriety. It sucks...

Stiles had a pretty solid thirty yard head start.

Plus four years of Lacrosse.

Plus an adrenaline dump fueled by the heart-wrenching fear of being torn apart by sharp teeth.

So, he actually made surprisingly good time _fleeing for his fucking life_.

He burst out of the woods at the road about twenty yards from his jeep. Behind him- too close behind him- pissed off howls were filling the night air. The rustle of leaves and tree limbs was growing closer and closer as Stiles sprinted down the gravel road to where his jeep was tucked off to the side.

His hand was on the doorhandle just as his oversensitive ears picked up the tell-tale sound of paws on gravel behind him. Lots of paws on gravel.

And Stiles was inside, key in the ignition, engine revving, and peeling out within ten agonizingly long seconds.

Something heavy hit the driver’s side as he began picking up speed. Something else hit the back.

Stiles accelerated. And kept on accelerating. And hit a sharp turn that almost flipped his jeep-

-but recovered, and KEPT ACCELERATING.

By the time he worked up the nerve to actually pull his wide-eyes off the road to glance into the side and rear view mirrors…

 

…there was nothing there.

…O_O…

If Stiles’ dad thought it was suspicious that his son woke him up in bed that night, wearing only a pair of jeans and smelling like a liquor store, to crawl into bed with him like a five year afraid of thunder, he didn’t say anything.

But, his father DID seem fairly concerned the next morning when he woke Stiles up from his bed to hand him his expensive new t-shirt (neatly folded) and a small handwritten note that said ‘Sorry about last night’.

Stiles barely made it to the hall bathroom before he vomited.

“Son,” His father stood in the doorframe, frowning in disapproval, “Is there anything you want to tell me about your evening?”

Stiles vomited again, remembering.

Then, he told his dad everything. About the orgy, the naked girl, the naked guy, the bodies and the…werewolves. Because that’s what they were, Stiles realized.

Fucking. Werewolves.

And, after staying locked in the house for several hours with one of his father’s personally owned guns clenched in his hand like a lifeline, his dad came back. Angry.

“IT WAS NOT DRUGS, DAD!”

“Stiles,” his father snapped, “I went there-personally- with half the damn department! All we found were cups and trash from a party. NO BODIES.”

“But, Dad- the blood! There was so much blood-!”

“There was no blood!” His dad yelled, clearly unimpressed with Stiles insane story, “There were no bodies! The water rose up the bank enough to wash most signs the party away. I even made my deputies wade around in it, Stiles. Which NO ONE thought was funny at nine a.m. on a Saturday.”

Stiles stared blankly at his father for several long seconds before muttering, “Oh, my god- they planned it all. They knew the water would rise…”

His father lost it. Bad.

Stiles was grounded. For, like, ever.

Which was actually perfect, because Stiles had no intention of ever leaving the safety of his house again.

The next morning, when his father was about to head to work, he almost tripped on a bouquet of roses and a card for Stiles on the doorstep.

Stiles made his dad open it for him.

It was pink.

And glittery.

There was a kitten on the front.

“I think you’re PUUURFECT! Signed D.H.” His dad read in a monotone voice, before looking incredulously at his son.

Stiles’ mouth opened and closed several times before he pointed at the kitchen trashcan. “Oh, my _god-_! Throw it away. And the fucking flowers, too!”

Later, when Scott had very rudely hung up on him after a two hour rant about the werewolf orgy massacre and his new supernatural stalker, Stiles lay in bed and regretted EVERY DECISION EVER.

…O_O…

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to point out mistakes and errors- I know they're in there. I just can't seem to spot them all. Kudos also appreciated. -^o^- 
> 
> The write-up summary of the rest of this story is explained in the Comments. I decided to keep it a Horror One-Shot, but I had ambitions of Romance/Humor if I had chosen to continue it. 
> 
>  
> 
> *A/N: If you're also reading The Thrill of The Hunt, I am so fucking sorry. I AM working on it. Promise.*


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